Cliff Hardy: Deep Water Part 18

'A homey atmosphere,' I said, 'makes for confidence.'

'It'll take careful orchestrating-ch.o.r.eographing, really,' Megan said. 'The Lachlan people'll want to see a real witness.'

'Any suggestions?'

'Ross knows all of us,' Hank said. 'We need a cleanskin.'

'Patrick,' Megan said. 'He'd be perfect, and he'd jump at the chance.'

'I bet he would,' Hank said.

Patrick Fox-James was an actor and musician. He and Megan had been on together for a few years; they'd performed in plays and done a two-hander comedy act on a Pacific cruise boat. The relationship had fizzled out. I never knew why. Hank's jealousy was understandable. Actors-you could never tell about them. But Megan was right; Fox-James could play the part and the danger involved wouldn't deter him. He'd done his own stunts in some television work. He looked like an aesthete, but was physically tough and courageous. We persuaded Hank.

We left it there for the time being. As Megan said, it was going to be tricky: we had to draw Crimond in and give him time to contact the players at Lachlan; we had to work on Dimarco, antic.i.p.ate his moves, and eventually agree to allow a police presence. Ch.o.r.eography.

I left Hank and Megan not on the very best of terms. As Bob Dylan says, 'How much do we have to pay for going through these things twice?' Or more than twice. Relationships have their own dynamic and agendas and you intervene at your peril.

I walked home. King Street was buzzing and would buzz until the early hours. The evening was cool and I kept up a brisk pace going through Victoria Park to the Glebe Point Road intersection. Glebe at night used to be more like Newtown, busier than it was now. Gentrification had quietened it down. I bought some Lebanese takeaway and cleanskin white wine and prepared for another lonely night. I was in a strange mood as I made my way down towards the water: I missed Lily but my thoughts turned quite often to Margaret McKinley; I was working again, but not really working, not in the old way.

I reached my gate and juggled the food and wine as I scrabbled for my keys. I heard a sound, caught a smell, then felt a stabbing pain in the small of my back. A kidney punch! I dropped everything and turned to hit back but a blow to the side of my head blurred my vision. Another blow blacked me out. Funny things happen in moments like that-all I registered as the darkness closed in was that the wine bottle hadn't broken.

22.

When I came to, I found myself in my own living room, with a plastic restraint anchoring my right wrist to the arm of the sofa. A damp towel hit me in the face.

'Fix yourself up a bit, Hardy. You're a mess.'

The voice was familiar, but my vision was still fuzzy. I used the wet towel to clear my eyes and then pressed it against the aching places on my head. A lighter clicked and I smelled tobacco and smoke. Phil Fitzwilliam lounged against the wall near where I sat. He drew on his cigarette and flicked ash on the carpet.

'I warned you, Hardy.'

The cool towel felt good against the throbbing spots. I blinked several times and began to feel as if I might be able to talk and function. I'd been wrong about Fitz: a direct approach; not one of his sideways jobs as in the past. What did that mean? Confidence? Desperation?

'You're out on a long, thin limb here, Phil.'

'I wouldn't say that.'

He took a ballpoint pen from the breast pocket of his jacket, reached into another pocket and fished out a pistol. He wiped the pistol with a handkerchief and put the pen up the barrel. He opened the door of the cupboard under the stairs and shoved the pistol deep into the jumble inside. Then he shut the door and opened it, feigning surprise.

'What's this? Looks like an illegal weapon, traceable to a serious wounding, with your fingerprints on it. With your record ...'

'What about the c.o.ke and the paedophiliac p.o.r.n?'

'No need. I can guarantee you some time inside, Hardy, and you and I know there are people in there who'll be pleased to see you.'

'They'll be more pleased to see you when your time comes.'

He smiled. 'Never happen.'

The ash on his cigarette was long now. He reached to the nearest bookshelf, turned the photograph of Lily over, and carefully deposited the ash on top of it.

'That c.u.n.t got what she deserved.'

I shook my head, even though it hurt. 'Phil, Phil, you're a worried man. Internal affairs are breathing down your neck. You say I've got enemies in jail-you've got 'em inside and outside. I'd say that Sean Wells'd like to see you in the protection unit at the Bay. Probably wouldn't visit except to see how stressed you were.'

'All manageable.'

'Yeah, maybe. With money. How much is Tarelton paying you to run interference?'

'Who says anyone's paying me? Maybe I just hate your guts.'

'You never did anything on impulse, Phil. There was always a quid in it for you. And we're talking about a big quid here. D'you know about this water thing?'

Fitzwilliam was never hard to read. Until I used the magic word, he was getting ready to drop his b.u.t.t on the carpet and stamp it out, but he changed his mind. He lifted his foot, stubbed the cigarette on his heel and dropped the b.u.t.t on the upturned photograph.

'What about water?'

'They're keeping you in the dark, mate. A guy named McKinley was working for Tarelton. He discovered a way to solve the city's water problem forever and a day. Then he got killed, as you'd know. Hank and I were investigating the murder for McKinley's daughter. Tarelton became uneasy, made some funny moves we caught on to. They wanted to stop our investigation and see if some way could still be found to turn on the tap, if you follow me. What did they tell you? Let me guess. They said we were looking for evidence to back the daughter's duty of care suit and that they were facing a big payout and needed your help. That's bulls.h.i.t.'

'f.u.c.k you. You always talked a blue streak, Hardy, and got yourself out of trouble. Not this time.'

But I knew I'd got to him. At his best, Fitzwilliam was quietly menacing, but it could turn to bl.u.s.ter when he lost confidence. I'd seen it before in the witness box, and it was obvious again now.

'Tarelton's in trouble,' I said. 'There're two other players in the game. Tarelton borrowed big money from one of them and is under pressure. These three are all still hoping to get in on the water deal. Tarelton's got at least one shadow minister on side and the others've probably done the same. It's state and federal politics and international capitalism, Phil. Too big for you, too big for us, but we can still get something out of it if we play it smart.'

Fitzwilliam lit another cigarette. 'You've just about lost me, but go on.'

'There's some guesswork in it from us, but it looks like this: Tarelton hired a shooter to break up the meeting between Hank and me and Global Enterprises-that's one of the other players. The shots were aimed high-no real risk to life or limb. The guy from Global copped some flying gla.s.s. I suspect you arranged that, but ... never mind.'

'The f.u.c.k do you mean, never mind?'

'We think the other player was responsible for McKinley's death and probably another one. That's who we're after.'

'A couple of cowboys, that's what you two are. Even if I believed this bulls.h.i.t you'd never stand a chance against these big companies. They've got money to burn and more lawyers than you can shake a stick at.'

I shrugged. 'Have it your own way. In any case, we're not interested in Tarelton. There's no reason for you to put the moves on us.'

'Like I say, maybe I just want to.'

'Look, Phil, you can do yourself some good out of this. Pick up some points you're going to need when internal affairs come down on you.'

'Who says they will?'

'I have my sources.'

'f.u.c.king Parker.'

Just the mention of the name seemed to bring the trouble hanging over him closer to his mind. He dropped more ash on the floor.

'For Christ's sake go out to the kitchen and get a b.l.o.o.d.y ashtray. I'm not going anywhere.'

He did, returning with another cigarette alight and a saucer. He had a decent slug of my whisky in a gla.s.s. He settled into a chair and stared at me. He sipped, crossed his legs, trying for casual and not making it.

'Go on,' he said, 'entertain me.'

'You know how it works. It's t.i.t for tat. If you were in on a successful murder prosecution-exposing corporate corruption, protecting the public interest-a lot of your transgressions would be downgraded, even forgiven. It'd be worth a whole lot more to you than putting a couple of private eyes out of business.'

'I'm listening.'

'I don't like you any more than you like me, but I've got a proposition for you, Phil.'

23.

'He's coming down tomorrow morning,' Hank said to Ross Crimond. 'We're going to put him up in Cliff's place.'

'Why?'

'He's got the room.'

'I've got s.p.a.ce. From what you said, he might be more comfortable in a Christian home-no offence, Mr Hardy.'

I wanted to hit him, but I said, 'He's more concerned about security than anything else. He knows what he's doing is dangerous. Hank and I can take shifts.'

Crimond was in a difficult spot. He didn't want to seem to be too aware of the dangers, but he wanted to get things arranged in his, or Lachlan's, favour. I could see his mind working.

'Danger?' he said. 'I don't quite follow.'

'Don't go there,' Hank said. 'But we'd like you to be present when we grill ... talk to him. We need a rock solid statement of interview to take to ... wherever we take it.'

Crimond nodded. 'Understood. So it's a meeting at Mr Hardy's place tomorrow at ...?'

'Keep your mobile charged,' Hank said. 'Time to be advised. And thanks, Ross, I reckon you'll be able to help us gain his confidence.'

Crimond gave a thin smile. 'Because I'm a sobersides?'

'Haven't heard that expression in years,' I said.

We started juggling the b.a.l.l.s the following morning. Hank rang Dimarco and told him that if he presented at a time to be advised at my house the following night, he'd learn something to his advantage. Hank also said it'd be a good idea to bring a couple of his security people along.

The phone was on broadcast for my benefit.

'This involves Dr McKinley?'

'Sure does, and that's all I can tell you.'

'I'll think about it,' Dimarco said.

'Bet your a.s.s you will,' Hank said after the call finished.

Then we got a surprise. About an hour after the call to Dimarco, the door buzzer sounded. Megan, research a.s.sistant-c.u.m-receptionist, was away coaching Patrick Fox-James. I opened the door and stepped back in surprise.

'h.e.l.lo, Mr Hardy,' the woman said, holding up her warrant card. 'Remember me? DS Roberts?'

'I do. Come in.'

She moved past me, put her card away in her bag and spun around. 'I'm here under instruction from Chief Super d.i.c.kersen whom I'm sure you also remember.'

Hank came out of his office. 'We remember him,' he said.

'I'm here to talk, and if the talk isn't satisfactory, to arrest you both for obstructing the course of justice, and conspiracy to commit a crime of violence.'

'Why didn't the chief super come himself?' I said.

'He was too busy and too angry. Just not sure you were worth his time. Can we get down to it?'

The wires or the satellite or both had been doing their thing. As we expected, Dimarco had contacted Wells. There was so much compet.i.tiveness within the police service that I'd expected Wells to take a personal interest and make the running himself. He'd have had the rationalisation that the Double Bay shooting was his case. But I'd been mistaken. Wells had contacted Chief Superintendent d.i.c.kersen who was overseeing the McKinley investigation-hence the presence of DS Roberts.

We had no choice. We gave her the outline of our plan-minus the time and place of the crucial meeting-to flush out the people responsible for Henry McKinley's death. She listened with scepticism and impatience written all over her. The impatience was understandable-she'd have got most of this from Wells. The scepticism made sense, too. As we laid it out for the fourth time (counting the versions to Megan, Crimond and Dimarco), it began to sound less and less feasible. That's the way it is with plans. The best chance for their success is to state them once and carry them out.

DS Angela Roberts, crisp and comfortable in her lightweight suit, now wore an expression you'd have to call amused. 'That would be the dopiest idea I've heard in a long time,' she said. 'How could you hope to pull it off?'

'There's a lot of dopiness about this case, Detective,' I said. 'We've got three big companies all angling for this information that they'll probably never get. All with a mind to screw the public for profit. Two of them prepared to resort to violence, and one looks to have gone too far with it.'

She nodded. Didn't speak.

I went on, 'You know what it's like, with their lawyers and commercial confidentialities shields. They're hard to penetrate by conventional methods. Our client wants to know who's accountable. We can't see any other approach than the direct one.'

'You're involving people who aren't accountable-your stand-in witness and your employee, Mr Bachelor, who you've more or less entrapped.'

'It's messy,' Hank said.

'It just got more messy. You were counting on back-up from Global and Inspector Wells. Where are you now on that?'